


Keep It Cool

by angellwings



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Attraction, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, One Shot, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: [One Shot][Brettsey] Sylvie is having some not-so-platonic thoughts about a certain Captain and Emily isn't helping.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 38
Kudos: 217





	Keep It Cool

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:**   
>  So, this one shot can entirely be blamed on 8x20 promo photos. Matt had helmet hair in those photos and it totally worked for me. I’d imagine Sylvie would like it as well. Also, there were some tweets exchanged that led me here too, haha.
> 
> Anyways...happy reading!
> 
> angellwings

* * *

“Yeah, boy,

I'm digging what you're doing.

Yeah, boy,

I'm trying to keep it cool,

But you're making it hard, I'm wishing your arms,

Were wrapping me up tight.

Yeah, boy,

You shine and you can't even help it.

Yeah, boy,

Your eyes could make the moon jealous,

And if you wanna know if I wanna be your girl tonight,

Yeah, boy.”

-”Yeah Boy” by Kelsea Ballerini

* * *

There’s something about helmet hair that just truly works on Matt.

Sylvie’s not sure why, but she loves the way the hair that comes down over his forehead looks fluffier -- looser. _Tousled_ is probably the appropriate word. And it doesn’t just happen with a helmet. It happens when he wears his CFD ball cap too, even more so when after he’s turned it around backwards.

Maybe she likes it because it looks as if someone’s been running their fingers through it and it’s easy to imagine that she was the person running her fingers through it. She would bet good money that his hair is soft and silky. Much more so than her own. It’s usually that way with men. They naturally get the features women want. Whether that’s soft and silky hair or long curled eyelashes doesn’t matter. If it’s something women work hard to enhance then men probably come by it naturally. It’s extremely unfair. Always has been. Always will be.

Today the tousling is actually caused by his helmet. He’s hanging around the apparatus floor after a call, talking to Severide. The pants of his turnout gear are still on with the red suspenders on top of his white short sleeved Captain’s polo. Everything about him is working for her. His chest is framed perfectly by his suspenders and the short sleeves of his polo make his shoulders and biceps look particularly sturdy. He looks like what he is. A working man who’s ready for anything and beyond capable.

She’s trying not to stare as she and Foster restock the ambo, but he’s not making that easy for her.

“Girl, take a picture,” Emily teases with a smirk. “You can take it with you when we leave here and study it to your heart’s content. That way _we_ can get back to work _now_.”

Sylvie blushes but dismisses her with an eye roll. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. I’m just gonna say this one more time,” Foster says as she leans toward Sylvie to whisper dramatically. “Jump. Him.”

It’s tempting, but hardly appropriate. She’s not the person he wants jumping him. She’s fairly certain of that.

“Again, I have no clue what or who you mean,” Sylvie says, being purposefully obtuse.

Foster makes a disbelieving harrumphing noise and reaches for the pile of fresh towels. “I’ll pretend that answer was truthful for your sake, but we both know better.”

“Just fold the towels, okay?” Sylvie asks as she resists giving Foster an amused grin. 

“I’m folding, I’m folding,” Emily replies with a light laugh. “Geez, touchy.”

“Sylvie.”

At the unexpected sound of her name from his lips, she nearly jumps out of her skin. When she turns to face him he’s wearing a mirthful grin as he walks purposefully toward her. She’s only slightly disappointed to find the suspenders and turn out pants gone. He’s put on his CFD jacket instead, which still creates a very pleasing aesthetic. She enjoys the way the fabric stretches across his arms and shoulders. Judging by the warmth that pools low in her stomach, she might like it a little _too much._

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Casey asks as his blue eyes shine down at her merrily.

“No -- well, yes, but I was just, um...really focused,” she says lamely as she reaches down and picks up a towel to quickly fold.

Foster bites her bottom lip and tries to hide it, but Sylvie hears her snorted chuckle anyway. “Yeah,” she says with a wide grin. “Folding towels is important work, Captain.”

Sylvie glares at her and then refocuses on Matt. “Did you need something?”

Matt hesitates and side eyes Foster before his gaze comes back to her. “Uh, yeah. But, um, maybe come and find me when you’re done restocking. I’ll be finishing up reports in my quarters whenever you're ready.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. Yeah. Okay. We should be done in about twenty minutes. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great,” he says with a small nervous grin. They exchange awkward silent nods before he walks away, nonverbally finalizing their plans.

“Uh, I think somebody wants some one on one time with Sylvie Brett,” Foster tells her with a gleeful smile. “Oh! Maybe he’ll be the one to jump you!”

“What? No!”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s too much of a boy scout for that.”

“No, that’s not what I—wait, you think Matt would be too much of a...I don’t even know what that means,” Sylvie says, feeling inexplicably defensive of Casey.

“Come on,” Foster says with a pointed glance. “You don’t know what that means? He’s too...gentlemanly. Too white bread--”

“Too nice? That’s what you mean to say isn’t?” Brett asks her as her irritation builds. “You know, nice guys aren’t always _boring_.”

“Right,” Foster says in disbelief. “Was Kyle boring?”

Sylvie swiftly avoids Foster’s perceptive stare. Kyle was very good to her but…

Well, he wasn’t often impulsive or highly passionate. His proposal was the most impulsive and passionate thing he ever did over the entire course of their relationship -- even _after_ they got engaged. 

“Kyle is not Matt,” Sylvie bashfully disagrees.

She refuses to look at her as Foster speaks but the knowing smirk in her voice is extremely audible. “No, he’s not. But how can you defend him if you don’t really _know_ what he’s like?”

There’s a challenge in her voice and Sylvie is simultaneously thrilled and appalled. Her head jerks up to meet Foster’s quirked brow with a wide eyed stare.

“You are not doing what I think you’re doing,” Sylvie replies with a panicked expression.

“I’m not doing anything,” Emily says, still wearing that smirk Brett heard in her voice earlier. “I’m just saying, you can’t say how he’d be with confidence unless you know first hand, can you?”

Ideas of how she’d find out first hand immediately intrude on her brain. Her mouth goes dry and she swallows thickly. Her earlier fantasy of running her hand through his hair is back but it’s accompanied by running her hands over other things which then leads to her imagining _his_ hands on _her_. Her cheeks heat and her blood warms in her veins. 

“No, I guess I can’t,” she admits as she shakes away the heady cloud of lust. 

Work. She needs to get to work. Supply checklist. Restock. And then…

Oh, God, and _then_ she’s supposed to go talk to Matt. How is she going to do that when Emily’s managed to put less than innocent ideas in her head? She avoids thinking about Matt or talking to Matt or being alone with Matt (or just Matt in general) by being overly thorough with their restock and replacing items with extra care. 

“All done,” Emily announces as she checks off the last item on the list.

Sylvie bites her lip and glances at the door to the Firehouse reluctantly. “We should check the list twice just in case.”

“Okay, quit stalling, Santa Claus,” Foster says with a chuckle and an eye roll. “We’ve already spent double the amount of time you promised him on this. _Go_.”

Sylvie lets out a long suffering sigh and narrows her eyes on her partner. “You know, this is all your fault. I was fine until you opened your mouth.”

She shrugs, not at all concerned about what she’s started. “I have no idea what you’re implying, but all I’ve done is talk. If my words have you feeling some type of way then that’s on you.”

 _Dammit_ , she’s right.

“I’ll be right back,” Sylvie declares with determination.

“Sure, you will,” Foster replies with a derisive snort. “Have fun!”

Sometimes her partner is truly _the worst_.

Casey is exactly where he says he’d be when she reaches the bunkroom. Consistent and reliable as always. She’s delighted to find that he’s yet to fix his hair. Though, it’s highly likely that he simply doesn’t know the front has gone a bit wavy and is standing out from the rest of his hair. Casey very rarely stops to look in a mirror. He prefers comfort and function to style. She’s always appreciated that about him. Nerves flutter in her stomach and her hands once again itch to touch his hair. She knocks on his door frame and then quickly shoves her treacherous hands in her jacket pockets.

He turns to look as she greets him.

“Hey! Sorry, that took a little longer than I thought it would. You needed to talk?”

His eyes travel past her to the rest of the bunkroom before he motions her further inside. There’s no one really around, but at 51 that could change at any moment. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says with a gulp. “Come on in.”

Once she’s inside, he stands, shuts the door behind her, and then closes the blinds which effectively cuts them off from any and all potential interruptions.

She has a wild thought that maybe he does actually intend to jump her but immediately dismisses it as an aftereffect of her conversation with Foster. 

“What’s up?” Sylvie asks, eyeing the closed blinds anxiously. 

He’s really testing her self control and he doesn’t even know it.

“Well, um, last year I was supposed to have dinner with Boden and Donna at The Palm and things around the house went a little haywire so they cancelled it,” he begins slowly. She’s not sure when this was but he sounds hesitant to elaborate so she decides not to ask. “But now they’ve rescheduled it, and it’s a reservation for four so…”

When he trails off, her pulse skyrockets. Is this what she thinks it is? Oh, God, he’s not gonna ask her to set him up with anyone, is he? Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not let him ask her to find him a blind date.

“So?” She asks, when he seems to hesitate.

“So, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me -- as my date.”

She has to bite down on her lip to keep from reacting too dramatically. Holy shit. _Holy. Shit._

Before she gets too excited, she needs to clarify. If he just wants a buddy to survive the night with then she can be that, but she wants to be prepared for that ahead of time. “Me? As your...date? Like a friend-date or--”

He chuckles and anxiously runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up even further. Accidentally making himself even _more_ enticing to her. 

“Sylvie,” he says as his eyes meet hers. He looks more earnest than she’s ever seen him. “If I wanted a friend instead of a date, I would have said that. I’m asking you to be my, very much not platonic, _date_.”

She allows herself to smile as soon as those words pass his lips. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Taking in a deep breath, she meets his eyes and steps closer before answering him. “I would love to be your very-much-not-platonic date, Matt.”

“Yeah?” He asks as a cautious smile spreads across his face.

She nods, eagerly. “Absolutely.”

He swallows and leans into her space, his eyes falling to her lips. Mentally, she urges him to close the distance and kiss her. There’s a beat where she thinks he might, but then there’s a sound from outside the door. A loud bang, as if someone has dropped something, and she supposes he remembers where they are. He glances down and away but doesn’t step back. 

There’s a sigh stuck in her throat. For his sake, she stifles it. Instead, she decides to make a move of her own. He’s clearly not comfortable kissing her in the Firehouse so she won’t push him. But she’s been thinking about one thing for way longer than she’s been imagining kissing him and she has suddenly decided she’s not leaving his quarters without indulging at least _one_ of her fantasies.

One of her hands reaches up. Matt doesn’t flinch. One corner of his mouth does pull upward, though, as if he knows what she’s up to. Her fingers delve into the unkempt hair sweeping across his forehead and sticking up at the top. 

“You...you’ve got a helmet hair situation happening,” she explains.

He smirks and nods, but says nothing.

She combs her fingers through, straightening it and arranging it to look at least similar to the way it did that morning at the start of shift. His hair is exactly as soft and silky as she knew it would be. Pushing back slightly further, her nails graze his scalp where his hair becomes shorter. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes before instinctually leaning into her hand. Oh, Jesus, this somehow feels more sensual than it should. The more intimate this begins to feel, the more the pads of her fingers tingle with tension. She lets her fingers drag back and forth through his hair while she starts to bring her other hand up cup his jaw. 

Why not take one more tentative step forward? She’d prefer to be kissing him but, in lieu of that, caressing his face and running her fingers through his hair will do for now. As her hand comes to rest on his cheek, his callused larger hand encases her wrist.

The contact is sudden and forces her to meet his eyes. They’ve darkened considerably and they seem to roam all of her face at once as if he’s attempting to memorize her. The dedicated attention sends goosebumps across her skin and raises the little hairs on the back of her neck. Good God, how can she get him to look at her like that all the time? It’s intoxicating.

She feels his other hand cradle the back of her neck. A crooked grin twists his lips and then in an instant the hold on her neck pulls her mouth to his. It starts hard and insistent but rapidly softens. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, but he does pull her bottom lip between his before craning back to meet her eyes. 

He’s not seriously going to stop _now_ is he?

Her question must be evident on her face because he laughs softly and then dives back in -- wrapping his arms around her and crushing her against him. His tongue drags across her bottom lip leading her to gasp with need. Once her lips are parted, the kiss becomes something else entirely. Deep and searching as if she holds some sort of secret he can _taste_. Fuck, he can kiss. It’s not soft or hesitant. This is confident and strong. Matt Casey may be careful but he’s by no means shy.

Which he further proves a second later when one of his hands drifts to her ass. She pulls back only for a moment to grin against his lips. This new side of Matt Casey is sexy as hell. She throws herself completely into it when her lips find his again, aching to match his passion with her own. Her arms fold around his neck and to accomodate how she’s shifted them, his hands cup her ass and lift. Her legs naturally wrap around his waist and then he turns and sets her down on his desk. 

The next several minutes are a flurry of tongues and teeth and hands. No clothes are shed, but with the way his hands run over the length of her she thinks they may as well have. The kissing comes to abrupt halt as the bells sound. Matt groans against her mouth as if he’s in pain and then moves out from between her legs.

She giggles quietly when she gets a good look at him. So much for fixing his hair. She’d gone and fucked it up again during their make out session. Not only that but his lips are red and swollen. She’s sure hers are too. What they’ve been doing in his quarters all this time is going to be beyond obvious to everyone in the house. She quickly tries to fix his hair back but all she does is make it look like it did before she walked in -- who knows how many minutes ago.

“Is my hair as bad as yours?” She asks him as she brings a self conscious hand up to her ponytail.

He grins and gently pulls the tie from her hair. “Better to go out there with it down.”

She laughs and brings her hands to her blushing cheeks. “They’re gonna take one look at us and _know_.”

“Then I guess we better face the music,” Matt says with a shit eating grin as he opens his door and motions her through. “I’m game if you are.”

She beams at him and then presses a quick kiss to his cheek as they make a run for their rigs.

Well, so much for him not wanting to jump her.

Foster’s got the ambo running and waiting as Brett climbs in the passenger side.

“Where have you been?” Foster asks as he pulls out onto the drive. “You’ve been gone a while.”

“With Matt,” she answers truthfully. Letting the excitement she feels show on her face. 

“Oh, really?” Foster asks, intrigued.

“ _Really_ ,” she states before smiling boastfully at her partner. “And, by the way, I can now _confidently_ assure you...Matt Casey is no boy scout and he sure as hell isn’t boring.”

Foster’s eyes widen and she cackles victoriously as she merges onto the street. “Holy shit, finally! That’s what I’m talking about! Oh, you are so spilling your guts the minute we get back to 51. I cannot wait to see Stella’s face when she hears about this!”

Neither can she. Although, if she had her say she’d go right back to Matt’s quarters the minute they get back to 51. Kissing Matt feels life changing. She wants to get back to it as soon as possible. That’s the only way she’s going to figure out exactly how _life changing_ his kisses can be. Her hopes are set high and, for once, she has no plans to temper them.

**Author's Note:**

> PS - both katertots and I agree that Matt was probably LITERALLY a Boy Scout and might take offense to Foster's negative connotation lol. SO, just be aware Boy Scouts are great! Nothing wrong with always being prepared. ;)


End file.
